


Noble as a grape

by Hope



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-27
Updated: 2005-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/35209.html</p></blockquote>





	Noble as a grape

* * *

When Maddy first got sick Jayne'd been young, old enough to fire his own rifle, sure, but not old enough to go hauling in the scrapyards with his Pa and the other menfolk. Their place had been small, not made any more spacious by the ever-growing clutter of rusted machinery parts, and in a cot next to Maddy he'd been able sleep through all manner of crashing noises and shouts and gunshots. Could never sleep through that deep, tearing noise of Maddy's cough though, or the rough, wet sound of Maddy's deep breathing.

After his Pa got killed, Jayne would sleep more often than not in the armchair on the porch with the springs coming out, hand on the butt of his rifle, resting across his thighs. As the sun was rising, just before he'd leave for the scrapyards, he'd go in and watch Maddy sleep, newly-developed muscles in his arms, shoulders, chest aching as he held himself still, barely moving in case he woke her.

Jayne guesses everyone looks like that when they sleep. The Doc's face is soft, mouth closed for a change and the lines of his forehead different somehow, softer now that he ain't awake and thinking. "Doc," Jayne says, a growl gauged just loud enough to penetrate, and he don't even need to shake him, because the Doc comes awake instantly like he was just waiting for Jayne to speak.

"Jayne," Simon says after he's risen half-sitting, caught sight of Jayne and shrunk back a little against the wall, all in a matter of moments. He says the name like he's labeling the image that's been presented before him. Jayne wards off a smile, keeps his expression blank as he shifts his weight a little.

"Might want to see to your sister," Jayne says, and Simon's eyes widen further, inexplicably wide awake. "Cargo bay." And Simon's out of the bed and past him, moving in that strange way like any bit of Serenity he touches might scorch him any moment. Jayne allows himself a smirk, watching the Doc just miss hitting a doorframe shoulder-on, and heads back to his own bunk, savouring the gradual unraveling of his muscles cooling down after the work-out.

*

The next night he's most of the way through his work-out before he notices her, almost but not quite hiding between a crate and a tangle of dark hair. Damned if he'll stop for her; with eight presses left she can wait to distract him til he's gorram finished, and she almost does; not appearing suddenly behind him as she did last night but creeping slowly closer, a lethargic flit from crate to crate until she's close enough for him to see her half-blank, half-determined expression from the corner of his eye, and can almost hear the whisper she stifles by chewing her lip.

"Well," he says after he's set the barbell in place for the last time, sitting up and turning to set his feet on the floor, back to her but tense, every nerve poised in case she tries something crazy. He grabs the towel, scrubs it over his face. "Ain't satisfied with just the one ruttin' eyeful?"

He gives in to the urge to look over his shoulder, and of course she's standing there, only a couple of steps away from the bench now, staring fixedly at the dull iron weights, hands hovering tensely by her sides. Crazy people oughtn't be able to move so quietly. "Eyeful," she murmurs, gaze following the line of the bar eagerly to the opposite weight. Her nose wrinkles a little. "Noseful."

Jayne flexes, feels his brow dropping, sweat prickling as it cools. "You ain't hardly in a place to be gettin' mouthy, little girl," he says, almost a threat; and it might be if she looked him in the eye and gave him something to challenge then and there, instead of the vague, skin-itchy feeling he's been getting too many times since Ariel, when she's around and not looking at him but might be at any minute.

"Mouthful," she says, as if it's a sudden revelation she's been struggling to reach all night, and her eyes finally slide to his as she breaks into an open-mouthed, tooth-filled grin.

Mal'd kill him if he left her alone in with the precious cargo while the rest of the crew are sleeping, but she makes it easier for him by following when he goes to wake her brother again. She walks five or six paces behind until he gets to the corner that edges the hall between their bunks, then overtakes him as he peers into the crack left open on the Doc's door, heading straight into her own bunk. He looks at her. She stands in the doorway, looks back. Closes the door. Jayne stays where he is for a few more moments, until the yellow glow of the light through the door panes goes out, then heads to his own bunk.

*

When he takes a break after the first set the night after that, she's already sitting there, cross-legged on the floor of the cargo bay, a few yards in front of the bench. Jayne eyes her warily, occupying his mouth by taking a long pull on the water bottle instead of talking, then finds he don't have nothing much to say anyhow, and drops back again for the second set. She's still sitting there when he's done, looking like she ain't got nothing better to do in the 'verse than stare at him, so he scoots forward til he's sitting on the edge of the bench and stares back.

They're quiet for a long while, the only noises Serenity's constant hum and Jayne's slowing breath as he cools down. It's almost like being in an Alliance bar with Mal and Zoë on U-Day, only with less occasional growling chatter (Mal) and less of a sense of thrumming, poised violence (Zoë). So, generally better, then. He takes another swig from his bottle, offers it to the girl. River takes it.

"You sure are good at holdin' conversation, girl," he says as she hands the bottle back, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, and finds he ain't really being sarcastic.

*

There ain't _really_ a night-time when they're out there in the black; depending on where they are in the system sometimes there's a light shining through the high windows in the mess, or on the bridge, and sometimes it don't go out for days. But generally speaking, it's all just one, long night with no horizon for a sun to rise over and make it morning. Serenity keeps her own time, pivoting on the six-o'clock meal that they all make it to as a general rule, and sleep some hours after, but Jayne finds he likes to skew it a bit to fit his own schedule. He stays up later, to push his muscles to the point of burning, to feel the liquid heat burn away the last residual traces of energy the food has left before he can sleep, loose-limbed and exhausted in his bunk, sleeping heavy and waking up clear.

"Not tired," River says when he asks her one night why she ain't in bed like the rest of the crew. "Not crew."

_Course you are_, Jayne thinks, but doesn't say it aloud. _You're the resident crazy one._

Her mouth quirks up a little wryly at the edge and she quits the lazy swinging of her legs where they hang over the edge of a crate. "You're right," she says, and Jayne blinks, but he ain't really surprised. "All need roles. Otherwise…" her head tilts and she's not looking at him anymore, looking instead at some unchartered pocket of space in the cargo bay he's not privy to. "You reach the end. And there ain't nothing but more space."

The words sound strange, coming out of her mouth, something Jayne can't quite put his finger on. He shakes his head abruptly, then masks his puzzlement with a half-grin of his own, but when he looks back her expression is long, shoulders slumped. "Tired now," she says, and slides down from her perch on the crate.

He gets to the hall of the passenger dorms before he realises walking her back has become habit, and decides that I don't really bother him much. It ain't like there's anyone around to see, and it cuts out any ache he might feel the next morning by cooling down slow.

 

* * * 

 

River gets a little more crazy whenever they're heading into atmo, something which don't surprise Jayne all that much as he don't have much fondness for those jerky half-falling feelings when Wash drops them down a few thousand more K's and the stabilizer takes just that little bit too long to catch up. Mal likes to be on the bridge, but Jayne can't see the appeal of seeing the ground all at wrong angles and so spends as much time as he needs in his bunk, prepping his guns for whatever job they're about to be landing in the thick of before heading to the cargo bay. Kaylee's usually there, grinning, and the Doc usually ain't.

Jayne thinks that maybe River's screaming fits as they land come at least partly from her brother, whose knuckles tend to go white as they band around her arms, and sweat sheen on his forehead and clenched jaw. River shuts up just fine when they're docked and still, more often than not gets mighty curious about what they're all going out to do while the Doc lingers back in the belly of the ship, just keeping her in sight.

Which seems to be the case right about now, though it's hard to tell if the girl's curious as to what's going on or she just don't realise that there's anything different going on, as she's walking kinda slowly and looking all puzzledly around her as she does sometimes when it's only Jayne in there, and they're floating about instead of still on the ground.

"Kaylee, will you get her outta here?" Mal grips River by the upper arms and shifts her approximately one yard to the left, leaning past where she was standing to check the straps holding the cargo to the mule. Kaylee straightens, slams the vehicle's hood down and moves to take River's arm. "I don't know," Mal continues as Kaylee matches River's drifting pace to walk her back out of the bay. "Is it just me, or did she not come aboard with someone else? A brother maybe? Someone who ought to be looking to her safety and well-being at all times?"

"She's perfectly safe on the cargo deck, Cap'n," Kaylee throws over her shoulder, though she ain't so far away yet that she needs to raise her voice at all.

"Not while I'm on it," Mal mutters, loud enough for it to be a retort. "And looking at doing some legitimate business without having no babysittin' gettin' in my way."

Kaylee snorts and Mal repeats the word, "_Legitimate,_" with a stern glance at those around him. Jayne makes a point of shrugging and going about his readying to leave, if the Captain wants to reassure hisself in front of the rest of them then so be it, it ain't a concern of Jayne's what they're doing and why, as long as there's coin enough at the end of it. He sees Mal's gaze reach up to the gangway between the shuttles and drop again, quickly, and Jayne follows it up again in time to see the swish of Inara's skirt tails as she steps into her shuttle. Jayne smirks.

"Jayne," Mal again, looking not so pleased. "Care to put on a little speed? We ain't goin' out there for a picnic."

The smirk turns into a scowl. "Seems to me that I ain't the one standing around chatting while the rest of us are waiting to go." Mal's climbed into the mule while Jayne's talking, and at a raised eyebrow from Zoë, Jayne realises he's the only one left, and clambers on also. "'Sides, it ain't like we _need_ to make this job quick, we're hardly going to run into much trouble in _Aberdeen_."

Mal pauses his reach for the ignition of the mule and turns to face him, silent for a moment. "What?" Jayne says, getting a mite uncomfortable.

"Huh," Mal says. "You know, I think you're right. Ain't gonna be no one looking for fugitives on a rock like this. Why don't you go fetch that resident babysitter of ours."

Jayne blinks. "Me?"

"Sir," Zoë says, "I'm not sure--"

Mal waves her off. "It's just a quick drop, we can haul these two crates easily enough without Mister Muscles here. 'Sides, Doc's been bitching at me about runnin' low on supplies for weeks now, might as well give him a chance to do some shopping. And no, Jayne, I meant the other _houzi de pigu_ sittin' in the back of this here mule."

Doc don't seem too impressed to see Jayne, though the way his eyes are drawn to Jayne's ample arsenal that maybe he just ain't impressed to see so many tools for killing-and-maiming in his infirmary. "But--" he says when Jayne tells him the good news. "I can't--I'm not… Supplies on _Aberdeen?_"

"I don't make the orders," Jayne tells him, although, with the way the Doc's getting all het up about it, makes him wish he did. "And you're about as like to find supplies out there as you are someone cares how pretty you look." Simon looks up from his somewhat desperate examination of his loose, un-pressed trousers, the dark sweater that suits his usual ship-bound style, instead of the vested-up outside-visit look he insists on wrapping himself up in before he goes world-side every time.

"River--"

"Seems to me Kaylee's lookin' to her right now," In fact, both Kaylee and River are seated in the couches outside the infirmary right now, Kaylee pretending not to listen and River doing mighty fine job of what she usually does, pretending there ain't no one else there. This is taking too long. Jayne takes another step closer to the Doc, whose eyes widen in alarm. "Cap'n ain't askin'," Jayne growls.

"Just let me get my bag."

The Doc don't complain as much on the other end of it, and Jayne suspects, from the way Simon was perched prissily on the edge of the dusty crates in the back of the mule, that he's more glad to get back on still ground again than he is pissy about not being on the ship no more. Though his expression of relief soon turns into one of vague distaste as he looks around the small settlement Mal's dropped them in. Not that Jayne's all that happy about being there either, rather be hauling crates in the desert than chaperoning another Tam, especially one that's gonna screw up his face every time he sees a wall made of wood instead of reinforced insta-brick.

"What was he thinking," Simon mutters, lifting his bag to clutch against his chest, as if he can't stand the risk of having it any closer to the dusty ground. "There's no way in the 'verse I'll find any of the supplies I need here."

Jayne knows just what the Captain was thinking, and tells him so, in as many words. "Maybe he was thinkin' you ought to get out more. See the 'verse some. Realise that we ain't about to walk out and into a supply shed full of medicines."

"I _don't_ think that," Simon hurries after Jayne as he begins to stride purposefully into the main street of the settlement. There's already a coating of dust on the Doc's shiny black shoes. "My requests aren't un_reason_able, these are things I _need_, that _you_ need, things I need to _work_."

Jayne screws his face up a little, spits a mouthful of residual dust from the ride out into the dirt. "Seems I got to work sometimes too," he says, not looking at the Doc but peering around the buildings up ahead of them. There ain't too many people around, and none of the threatening enough to even give Jayne cause to unflip the safety on the revolver at his hip. "And sometimes, when I run outta ammo, I got to rely on things like my knife the do the job when there ain't nothing else left." He caresses the hilt of it, catches Simon's rolled eyes out the corner of his.

"Fine, I'll keep that in mind next time I have to club you unconscious to stitch up something when I've run out of anesthetic."

Jayne grunts. "Seems to me you're the one who knows where all the medicines in the 'verse are, and how to get to 'em," he says, and regrets it an instant later, 'cause he knows what the Doc's thinking of now and he'd be lying to say he ain't thinking of the same thing. "'Sides," he says, feeling guilty and not wanting to, especially with the way the Doc's so silent now, and walking a couple of steps further away from him, head all bowed and frowny. "Cap'n's somewhat _restricted_ in the jobs he can take, what with the de-fault _risks_ aboard." Would have been a time where Jayne would have added something about how he wouldn't feel so restricted, but he ain't so sure any more.

The Doc don't talk again until they're out of the sun and into one of the bare-dirt floored shacks lining the road, this one with wide open windows and gaps in the roof that let in enough light to see the merchandise by, and more than enough dust besides. Jayne wanders over to a case that displays hunting knives, clearly amateurly made with their too-thin blades and crudely carved hilts while the Doc heads to the counter to talk to the salesman.

By the time the Doc comes back with a handful of small plastic jars, Jayne's moved on from the knives, through the similar-quality hand-tooled leather sheaths, the post-hole diggers, by the jars of flour and teas and dried fruits, and is onto the last table of what seems to be hand-made things of little or no use that he can tell. He picks up what vaguely resembles something he can't quite put his finger on, until the remembrance comes back all in a rush; a somewhat crude toy, a small wooden panel with a rubber ball tied to it on a length of elastic, the game being to beat the ball on the paddle as many times as you could. Jayne had won it for Maddy at a fair booth, a shooting contest with the dry summer air pushing against the back of his neck.

Simon rests his bag on a bare edge of the table in order to zip open a pocket and shove the jars in, upon zipping it closed again he looks up as Jayne tries, somewhat ineffectually, to work the thing though it ain't exactly like the one he remembers; this one has two smaller, wooden balls, each tied to the sides of the paddle with string instead of elastic, and the paddle itself thicker, lighter, hollow and each face covered with taut paper.

"You're not doing it right," the Doc says. "It's a drum. Here--" And he reaches out for it, skin dry and hot where his hand accidentally covers where Jayne's grasping it, jerking first a little instinctually at the sudden movement, and then away again as the Doc takes hold of it. "Like this," and the Doc glances briefly up at Jayne, eyes bright and colour high from the close air in the shack as the sun shines through directly from above, hair flopping over his forehead as he looks back down at the thing in his hand. His wrist twists a little bit, then stills a little bit, and the bones in the back of his hand shift intricately as he spins the stem of the drum in his fist. The wooden balls spin out, then back again as Simon turns it rapidly in the opposite direction, striking against the paper skins before spinning out again, a steadily increasing beat as Simon spins it faster. "See?" He's grinning.

Jayne's fingers tangle in the string when he reaches for it, and Simon lets go an instant later, hands dropping back to his bag where they reach for the handle and pull it off the table. "There's another store further down," he says, looking to the door. "Where I can get more linen for bandages," and the rest of his body follows the turn of his head as he leaves the shack. Jayne finds a paper tag on the top of the drum with a price on it, then slaps down a coin on the salesman's counter before following the Doc.

 

* * * 

 

The girl don't do so good in the take-off neither, and keeps up her screaming even once they're through atmo, keeping the Doc occupied during a somewhat-uncomfortable dinner, filled with Kaylee being all kinda flinchy whenever there's a noise and Mal's grunts of amusement only half-hearted at Wash's pale jokes. They're all eager to leave once the eating's over, even though by that stage there's only a determined silence coming from the infirmary and passenger quarters side of things, and no doubt the Doc's used up all of their recently-purchased medicines just to quiet the girl down.

Kaylee's shakiness at the Tam antics only seems to get worse the longer they're aboard, and Jayne thinks he ain't gonna sleep for a while anyhow, so he offers to clear up so she can go to her bunk early. He makes it last, scraping and rinsing each dish and chopstick before loading the dishwasher, making sure each chair is tucked under and out of the walkway, that by the time he's finished the sounds above Serenity's continual hum of people moving about, readying themselves for bed, have died down completely. He's heard the familiar sound of Wash's chair creaking as he pushes out of it, and then his soft-sole boots padding down the few steps that take him to crew quarters, then the hiss-thud of the door to his and Zoë's bunk closing; that usually signals the end of the day aboard the boat more than anything else.

Jayne's skin still bears a rime of dust from a day in Aberdeen, skin over his nose and forehead smarting a little from an excess of sun, but he decides to hold off bathing until he's had a chance to work up a sweat on the press, despite the fact that he feels near bone-weary already. No matter how much he works out, being on the world is liable to stress his body in ways he can't prepare too well for. Each visit after a long space getting there tends to make him feel like he's just come outta hibernation, the energy driving him on usually born of hunger; for real light, real air, real ground beneath his feet.

When he finally gets into the -- now mostly empty -- cargo bay, he finds he ain't the first one there. The girl's on the press, of all places, though, he supposes, it ain't like a Tam would ever conceive of sleeping on the _floor_. Jayne guesses it must be later than he thought, for whatever drugs her brother gave her to have worn off enough for her to make it down here, and more especially, for him to be asleep deeply enough that she could get away without him noticing. Jayne ain't so stupid to think that he don't run the risk of injury if he tries to wake her, no matter how harmless she looks right now, so he sits down on the edge of the press near where her feet are folded up. She wakes anyway, and looks up at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed, dark sickles dragging at the skin under them. "Still flying," she says, and her voice is raw, don't even echo in the vast space of the empty cargo bay.

He ain't quite sure what to say in response, ain't quite sure what she means by it in the first place, so he just nods. "Simon used to say," she rasps, as if taking his non-verbal response for encouragement to continue; Jayne ain't about to stop listening, especially as her being coherent is such a rare occasion, one that merits sharing with the rest of the crew in their time-killing anecdote sessions. "…Used to say I was getting better." Her voice ain't much more than a whisper, now. "He doesn't say it any more. But I… I can… I know what he's thinking." She closes her eyes again, and Jayne feels a rising sense of dread as something wet leaks out from one of her eyelids. "All the time. I know what he's thinking." Her fists clench under her chin as Jayne's clench on his thighs, still not knowing what to say but trapped, now. Rutting Tams.

He shifts a little uncomfortably, trying to get a better perch on the bench, and something digs into his behind. He reaches back, puzzled, and finds the drum in his pocket, the hand-carved stem of it digging into a buttock. The girl's eyes open and she stares at it, barely even blinking as Jayne starts to spin it as he saw the Doc do, rhythm uneven at first but soon building up nice and regular, a soft vibration through his hand like the kick-back in his palm when he's emptying a clip, only gentler. She sits up far enough to reach for it, does so before he's had warning enough to stop the movement, and there's cool friction as his hand moves under where she's grasped for it, and again as he draws his hand away.

She just looks at it, at first, holding the stem delicately in her fingers and turning it slowly to examine it from every angle before she gets a better grip and starts to spin it. Starting slow, then the steady _toc-toc-toc_ increasing, in increments almost small enough that Jayne don't even notice until it's become a steady purr of rhythm, the movement of the strings blurred before her face, the body of it a smudged globe before her. He can barely discern even the sound of the balls striking the paper individually, and the sound merged with the sleepy sound of the engine works strangely on him; as if the _toc_s are counting seconds on a clock, sped up so's he's sitting outside of it, like they're floating in space, all alone, with time and the worlds all spinning on without them. River stops. She holds the drum out to him. He shakes his head. "Keep it," he rasps, and her fist is about the size of the drum, closing tightly on the stem below it.

She's still gripping onto it something fierce as the soft clang in the air vents far above signal the shift in thermostat that's programmed into Serenity's life support systems; a slow, slight rise in temperature to prepare for the waking of her early-rising passengers within the next few hours. Jayne's always thought sleep was somewhat relaxing, but it could be the medicines River's on that keeps that fist clenched even though she's been sleeping for some time now. He risks touching her, and her eyes stay closed, even when he lifts her up, and she's lighter even than the weights on the barbell, but lean and wiry where she presses against Jayne's arms. Not delicate-like, though he's careful enough with her as he carries her back to the passenger quarters; there ain't no telling what she'd do if she woke up now.

It's the other Tam that wakes, though; Jayne ain't even stepped all of the way out of River's bunk before the door opposite him slides open. The Doc looks a mix of fearsome and fear-full, like he's an animal Jayne's tracked and trapped down into a corner, eyes-wide terrified but claws out too. Under a general muddying mix of tiredness as well, it seems; the Doc's still in the clothes he was wearing that day, still with the lining of dust caught in the creases of skin on his neck, and the light from his bunk shines softly through the opaque panels of the door, as if he'd fallen asleep with it on.

"What are you doing," barely a question, with the way he intones it, voice just above a whisper and no where near as warm as it would have been if it were just his breath, but Jayne supposes he can't blame him.

"I ain't doin' nothing," he hisses back as he steps out through the doorframe of the girl's bunk, sliding the door closed quietly behind him. "But pickin' up after _you_ again." What a pair they must make, both filthy, dusty, clothes worn a little too long, mussed with tiredness. Jayne's wishing he'd taken that bath instead of making his way to the bench press after all. "Little sister here seems to have decided that her bed ain't good enough for her no more, she needs to sleep in my work out space."

Simon's silent for a moment, mouth open and working a little without a noise coming out. "I'm… sorry," he says finally, like he ain't sure if it's the right thing to say or not, and Jayne nods.

"This ain't the first time I brought her back here," he continues, wanting to rub it in now, though he ain't entirely sure of why other than that's what he'd normally do. And gorram, why ain't this normal? "Most times she can walk back herself, though."

Simon's mouth's closed now, as if he's finally come to terms with the fact that there ain't no use getting worked up over nothing, and he can repay Jayne the favour by letting him speak his piece. "Thank you."

Jayne grunts. "Ain't nothin'," he says gruffly, and looks away, to where the soft shadows of the couches beyond the corridor blur on the scuffed floor. He's itchy suddenly, dried sweat and dust making him shift uncomfortably. "Well," he says, eager to get back to his bunk. The Doc's still looking at him, eyes too wide for comfort. Jayne gives a final nod, which the Doc returns, then he high-tails it outta there.

 

* * * 

 

Jayne didn't have much schooling as a boy, in part on account of leaving before he was teenaged to help out his Ma keep food on the table, but part because the schoolmaster had had a habit of pulling Jayne aside in the dingy schoolhouse during most of school hours, and demanding to know what he were playing at. Not that Jayne were ever playing at anything, at least not most of the time. Or some of the time. Jayne figures he weren't meant for school, he knew just about as soon as he could walk how to aim and fire an air rifle with a degree of accuracy, and that particular skill took on some more of his interest once the air rifle was switched for one of his Pa's cast-offs, one that could do some significant damage to more than a tin can. Rabbits, in particular, though nothing much larger'n that til he was a bit older; though he managed to make some coin tracking stray livestock from where they got spooked at the ships landing in (too close to the stock yards, a planning flaw that allowed him to save for his first proper hunting knife). A sight more lucrative than sitting in a dusty old shack listening to some hiked-up old storyteller try and learn him about books written on Earth-That-Was and other such useless trifles.

After a while, he did learn something - that it was pointless getting all frustrated when the schoolmaster refused so downright to listen to Jayne's reasoning on why shooting rabbits (or even shooting spitballs at the fat head of the girl sitting in front of him) was of more use to him than some made-up _hun dan_ with a name like _Iago_ who didn't like his boss. It's the same clamp of his jaw, though, that insidious burn in his gut that makes him clench his hands into fists and forcibly hold them down from smacking the nearest jaw.

"I ain't. Done. Nothin'," he says again, keeping his voice low and fierce for a number of reasons, not least of all that he don't like the idea of anyone overhearing these kind of conversations Mal has become like to corner him into.

The Captain still don't seem convinced, arms folded over his chest and legs set apart, that kinda pouty, self-assured twist to his mouth that never fails to set Jayne's teeth on edge and have his fingers automatically itching for a trigger. "Seems to me as you done something. Seems to me there'd be no other reason in the 'verse for the Doc to be acting all strange and such whenever you come within smellin' distance."

Gorram Tams. Jayne, not for the first time, mentally shakes a fist at whatever fate brought them two aboard in the first place, and then again at the man in front of him for not selling them off for a tidy sum when he first had the chance.

"I ain't been threatenin' them, if that's what you're thinkin'," Jayne hisses in response, and Mal raises one eyebrow, expression otherwise unchanged. "Or plannin' on doing anything … _stupid_." Mal's head tilts a little, and Jayne don't like the flare of his nostrils, or the remembrance it signifies. Agitated, he can't stop himself from glancing around for any blunt object that Mal might find at hand.

He's glowering harder'n ever when Jayne looks back up, and Jayne shakes the mental fist at himself for breaking eye contact. "Is it so hard to believe that someone aboard this ship, of their own accord, decides they want to act all friendly-like toward me?" He's playing his last card, one he'd prefer not to throw on the table, but Mal's not moving and Jayne's feeling more than a mite uncomfortable.

Mal smirks. "Well, yes. If it were Kaylee or something… or hell, even the Preacher'd have more reason to take pity upon you… but the Doc?" he shakes his head, finally takes a loose step back, and the tightness in Jayne's shoulders unravels some, at least for a moment, until the Captain's voice lowers a little more. "I know both those kids ain't as dumb as they come across most of the time," he says. "And I think we both know that they know as well as I do how things went down back on that cash-cow hospital we knocked up." He blinks, and Jayne doesn't dare. "I'm watching you." Mal's voice is deadly.

"Hey," Wash's tone is light, with an edge of anxiousness that's mostly lost beneath the self-deprecating humour. There are crumbs down the front of his flight-school coveralls, both eyebrows raised as if testing the air for potential conflict. "You guys decided to hold a party, here in my domain, and I wasn't _invited?_" Jayne scowls, and Mal finally drops his arms and steps back, looking to the pilot console. "No, wait… it's a _surprise_ party? Oh, you guys--" Jayne shoves past Wash on his way out, not in the mood for no wisecracks no how, ignoring the exaggerated _oof_ Wash pushes out and the "Was it something I said?" that follows him down the hall.

Zoë's down the steps, just outside the crew bunks, and of course hers and Wash's is the closest to the bridge but he ain't having none of that now, refusing to even look at her as he stomps on past. It's partly her presence that stops him from going straight down into his own bunk, partly the fact that he wants to put as much distance between he and Mal before shots're fired. Partly that there's somewhere else he needs to be right now.

Though the impetus for that third reason he's stomping around fierce enough to turn milk bad (had they been doing a livestock run) kinda loses momentum by the time he gets within hearing-distance of the infirmary and living area outside of it. Kaylee stops her humming right about the time he steps in, (same gorram tune since she got all dolled up on Persephone, and Jayne'd put a violent stop to it, he's so sick of it by now, if she didn't get that silly look she usually only gets in her eye when she's breathing up the smell of a fresh-cooked meal,) her head bowed down to where she's scribbling something on a folded up piece of paper. The crazy Tam's sitting beside her, but knees all drawn up with her own piece of paper leaning on them, hand moving slowly and intently, hair all messy and tangled forward. Gorram Doc can't even keep _her_ in fit shape, how in ruttin' hell does he expect to get her brain in order?

The Doc himself is in the infirmary, of course, stained blue like everything else in that little corner of the ship seems to end up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his back to Jayne, line of his spine straight despite the extreme angle of his bowed head as he looks down at his work. He's in his loose ship-clothes again, and the controlled movements of his hands, hidden from Jayne's view, translate into the push of his shoulder blades against the dark drape of fabric. Jayne steps forward, then stops again abruptly as he realises he's forgotten why he's come down here. Ruttin Tams, messing with his head--That was it.

"_Stop_ it," River's voice is sharp, and he whips his head around, mouth dropping open with a retort on the tip of his tongue. River is staring up at him, gaze just as commanding as her tone had been, and Jayne frowns, about to ask her what in _guai_ she thinks she's bossing him for when Kaylee lifts her head, grins.

"Okay," she says brightly. "That was two minutes already? It sure went fast. Here, swap." She exchanges folded pieces of paper with River, and glances up to see Jayne standing there. "Oh, hey Jayne," she says, grin widening. "River taught me this drawing game. You fold the pieces of paper, see, and take one each, and take it in turns to draw body parts on each - a head, body and legs. And it's folded, so you can't see what the other person drew, see?" she holds up the still-folded piece, flips it to demonstrate. Jayne grunts. "And then when you're done…" she carefully unfolds the piece she's holding, at the same time River does, then lets out an abrupt snort of laughter. "Oh," she compares pictures with River, whose smile is slightly less wide, then holds it out to Jayne. "Look."

The body's a mess that looks a mix between painful and hilarious; a finely detailed head and naked shoulders, chin tilted down and delicate shading over the cheekbones; a dress with cartoonish-ly flipped hems and sleeves, covered in flowers with breasts swelling near right out the top of it; then a pair of legs, one covered with crumpled, rough trouser fabric, the other bare, both feet encased in solid combat boots, each lace and buckle drawn with the finest detail.

"River and I used to play that when we were children," Jayne turns his head to see the Doc standing in the doorway of the infirmary, leaning there as casual as anything and staring out, watching them. His gaze is drawn from the paper in Jayne's hand at Jayne's movement, he catches Jayne's eye and smiles a little before looking back to where Kaylee and River are giggling over the other picture. "By the time she was twelve she was using it to help me memorise anatomy. We could match up perfectly the skeletal structures, muscular, coronary…"

His voice trails out and when Jayne looks back over to the girls he sees River staring right back at her brother, and Kaylee at River, and there Jayne was, staring at Simon too. He snorts, hands the paper back to Kaylee. "I ain't got time for no kids' games," he grumbles, and slouches back up the steps as if he's got somewhere better to be.

"Like you got something better to do, Jayne," Kaylee calls after him, still good-humoured, but ribbing, and he stops to stick his head back round the doorway.

"I do," he says, emphasising each word like they're just dying to know. River looks distinctly unimpressed, Kaylee mock-sneers, and the Doc's got a strange look on his face that kinda reminds Jayne of his half-squint-eyed, head-tilted thinking face. Then Jayne realises he can identify and recognise the Doc's thinking face, and decides it's high time he was in his bunk.

 

* * * 

 

Jayne skips the workout that night, stays in his bunk after dinner and takes apart a significant portion of his weaponry, cleaning and oiling where things need doing. He wakes up sluggish, and after breakfast takes turns spotting the Shepherd on the bench press. Mal announces that evening that they've got another job, a salvage run that needs delivering on Boros. Apparently all them that count have already been told; Wash ain't getting up to re-set their course and Inara is already absent from the meal table, making appointments that Mal says'll keep them there for three days at least.

Kaylee makes an exclamation about shopping or some such, which Mal tails with, "Good. Because the Doc here tells me we're in need of more medical supplies, and there ain't no way our token fugitives are setting foot anywhere the outdoors on a bustling hub such as Boros."

Jayne sneaks a glance out the corner of his eye, sees River not moving much, though that ain't got nothing to do with Mal's speech; her food's hardly been touched. Simon's not so still, chewing very slowly, carefully, mouth closed, though with a similar posture to his sister. Kaylee reaches across the table and pats the Doc's hand resting on the table over his napkin; he makes an odd, half-stifled bobbing movement with his head before dipping it again, lifting the hand to dab at his mouth. "I'll write you a detailed list," he says to Kaylee with a wry smile, glancing at the Captain for a brief moment. "River, is there anything you need?" Jayne scowls as he figures the question is just outta politeness; it always gets on his nerves the way people like to pretend everyone's just fine and a-ok when clearly they ain't.

"No," River mumbles, then, "Yes," then looking up to her brother with that woeful, piercing gaze Jayne recognises ain't got nothing to do with having your brain messed with and a whole lot to do with being a little sister. "I want what you want," she says, and Simon plays right into it, his own expression softening and his hand grasping River's where it still loosely holds her unused chopsticks. Jayne grimaces.

"Well, now that we've got that touching moment out of the way, how's about we get prepped for the big day ahead? Jayne, cargo bay." And Mal's up and gone. Jayne shovels in one last mouthful before dragging his own napkin over his mouth and tossing it to the table as he stands.

It don't take too long to prep the suits, and Kaylee brings the sticky from where she stores all them petty crime gadgets with the rest of her tools. Mal heads to bed soon after, they're hitting the salvage wreck right early and hoping set their path to Boros by mid-afternoon. The cargo bay's quiet once Mal's gone and no one's left to boss Jayne around, and he ain't tired enough yet to head to his own bunk, but too restless to settle down and work on something else til he's ready to sleep. The three suits stare blankly out of their open locker, empty and still.

*

It weren't really Jayne's fault. Mal himself ought to have been wise to how heavy the crates were, having been the one who took the job and all; it was just Jayne's misfortune that he happened to be the one holding the other side of the crate that slammed down on Mal's foot when they closed up the airlock and snapped the grav back on. Not that Mal'll let any opportunity to bitch out someone else about his own mistakes anyhow; and orders Zoë to stay secure the load while he struggles out of the suit and hobbles on Jayne's shoulder up and down the endless sets of stairs and gangways and halls until they get to the infirmary.

"What happened?" Simon's already hooking the apron over his head, rolling his sleeves up, as Jayne allows himself to be used as a crutch as Mal maneuvers himself awkwardly onto the examining table.

"This _ta ma de wang ba dan_ dropped a gorram crate on my foot-- Ah!" Mal bitches on as the Doc peels off Mal's boot and sock, revealing somewhat pale foot, other than the angry red crease crossing the bridge of it. It's already swelling. Mal hisses as the Doc snaps on some gloves and starts poking at it carefully.

The sister's on the bench on the far side of the infirmary, feet up and knees to her chest, and Jayne finds himself sharing a somewhat unimpressed smirk with her at the Cap'n's constant stream of whining. "Well," says the Doc after not too long. "It's not broken." He leaves the table for a moment to reach into a cabinet on the other side of the room, drawing out what looks like a kinda floppy silver pillow, which he wraps in some gauze and then places unceremoniously on Mal's foot.

"_Qingwa cao de liumang_ what _is_ that?" and Mal sure is in a pissy mood today, even for a fellow who just dropped a crate on hisself.

"It's a cold pack, it'll reduce the swelling."

"Reduce my ass," Mal spits, and squirms, carefully, as not to disturb the pack on his foot. The Doc turns away to the bench against the far wall, opening drawers and lifting out carefully-folded, wide strips of bleached linen. "Jayne," Mal's voice has almost entirely lost its whine, and is now bordering on deadly. "I swear by _suoyou de dou shidang_ that you will pay for this. Now get the hell back to work."

The Doc turns back to Mal just as Jayne's leaving, offering a glance of sympathy that Jayne returns as a scowl. Weren't no gorram fault of his the Cap'n had to go and get all crippled-like.

*

It takes a few days for Jayne to realise that as long as the Captain's still limping, he's still blaming Jayne for it. A couple more days after that and they've docked on Boros. "Oh no," Mal says when he hobbles out into the cargo bay to see Jayne there with the rest of the crew, all dolled up and ready for the world. "You--" Mal heaves himself with faux-effort into the passenger seat of the mule. "Can stay here and mind my ship." Mal's gaze flits past him and back into the belly of Serenity. "And my fugitives. Mind they don't go astray, any of them." And Wash gives Jayne a somewhat apologetic look (first time for everything, he supposes) before revving the mule and driving her out the cargo bay and away.

The first day ain't so bad. The Shepherd stays aboard too, and after Jayne's stomped around a little he concedes to un-slinging Vera from his shoulder and sitting down with Book'n the Doc to play some cards. River lists around the mess where they're playing, and it's always unnerved Jayne some the way she wanders around behind them, peering at their hands like it's any of her business. He figures her craziness is a wildcard that ain't got no place in their game, there's no telling when she'll blurt out that Jayne's bluffing, or the Preacher's got a flush, though knowing the Tams she'd probably be using her crazy powers to further her brother's hand, with that eerie-ass communicating thing they can probably do without her even talking.

Jayne looks up to glare in Simon's direction, with the intent to warn him off attempting to hoodwink him anyhow, and finds that Simon's already staring at him. Gorram girl, he's probably too late. She's leaning on her brother's arm, slouching on the chair next to him, and when Jayne flickers his gaze down onto her she pokes her tongue out, making his scowl heavier when he raises it again to the Doc's face, but Simon's expression hasn't changed much excepting a small, secretive smile that Jayne don't like the look of at all.

"Jayne," the Shepherd's talking, his voice with the underlying laughter in it like he's in the funniest joke in the 'verse and he ain't gonna share the punch line. "Your deal."

They play for long enough that when Jayne stands up his joints creak a little, and the first real pang of wanting-to-be-outdoors since before he got distracted hits, and he settles Vera's familiar weight back on his shoulder before heading down to the cargo bay, knowing it ain't gonna do him no good but being unable to resist it no how. The city's built up, so when he punches the command to open the cargo doors, it's not so much bright city lights or sunshine that pours in, but rather the humid air that smells a mix between wet metal and cooking meat and ripe spices, blended perpetually with the fuel fumes soaked into the ground of the landing bays. It's late enough afternoon that the sun's sunk far enough behind the towering ramshackle buildings, the shadows merging with the air and coming forward through the doors solid-like.

"_Laotian fu_," says a soft voice behind him, and Jayne startles, turns to see Simon standing there, half behind-him, eyes wide as he peers out the gaping cargo doors to the world outside. He doesn't look up at Jayne. "You really do forget what it's like, don't you?" he says, voice still low and something in it Jayne can't identify, but which twists something in his gut somewhat similar to a letter from his Ma, tearing it open, seeing the date months past. Simon glances up briefly, then looks down. "You know… I mean…" Ain't like the Doc to be stammering outside of one of Jayne's carefully-directed crudities. He can't keep his eyes down for long, almost involuntarily leaning forward to stare out.

"_Fa kuang_," Jayne says, reaching out to press a hand palm-flat against the Doc's chest, push him back. "You and your sister both. Cap'n told me to keep you outta sight, now _kuai qu hen yuan de difang_." He pushes the buttons that start the slow easing closed of the doors again, slicing through the atmosphere and squeezing the air like blood out of a cut.

 

* * * 

 

Jayne and the Shepherd are the only ones still awake when Zoë comms ahead to let them know they're coming. The Captain climbs off the mule like his foot's giving him a whole lot less grief than it was earlier that morning, either that or the limp is indistinguishable amidst the rest of his drunken stumble. He claps a heavy hand on Jayne's shoulder and grins like a crazy person. "Deal work out better'n planned?" Jayne asks Zoë, and Zoë grins in response.

Wash finishes powering down the mule and closes the cargo doors himself. "Did it ever!" he exclaims, coming over to stand where Mal's looking all googly-eyed at everyone.

"You know, Jayne," the Captain near-slurs. "I've a mind to reward you for your part in this," Jayne don't know nothing about what Mal conceives as _his_ part in this, other'n the crushing of the Captain's foot, and _that_ he's been blaming Jayne for for the past several days. But the word 'reward' ain't never gonna fail to pique his interest, so Jayne ain't about to question the Cap'n's motivations.

"Let me guess," the Shepherd is grinning openly with the rest of them. "The fence took pity upon our poor injured Captain?"

"Cap'n blackmailed him into payin' more for risky cargo is more like," Kaylee says, hauling her bounty off the back of the mule.

Jayne guffaws, and slaps a gleeful hand of his own on the Captain's back, all past grievances forgotten. "This means I'ma have an opportunity to spend it?"

Zoë nods, smile wide. "Wash and I'll stay shipside tomorrow if you'n the Captain have some errands to run."

"Errands," Mal says, attempting, and failing, to put on one of his serious captainy expressions. "I think I can trust you to go off and find some things to restock our arsenal, can't I Jayne?" 'Their arsenal' being, when Mal's in this good a mood, Jayne's own store of ammo and weaponry, and whatever he needs to refresh hisself besides.

Jayne can't hold back his grin. "Yessir!"

*

Jayne ends up returning somewhat sooner than the Captain the following night, Wash opening the cargo doors for him from where he'n Zoë are shut up on the bridge, while the noise of evening revelries are just firing up, smells outside stronger of frying fat and cheap alcohol than spilt fuel. The air inside Serenity is strange in comparison, empty and cool, like he's underwater, only you can't breath underwater no how so that don't make no sense.

He's turned and is halfway to the door controls before he realises Inara's stopped halfway down the stairs from the shuttle gangway. It ain't like her to stop, or even pay any attention when she sees him coming, so that in itself is enough to make him stop and stare back at her, eyes narrowed.

She clears her throat. "Night not go as planned?" she asks, conversationally.

Jayne thinks a moment, then shakes his head. "Yours?"

Inara shakes her head and then stops abruptly, as if she'd done it without realising. A brief flicker of alarm crosses her face. "Don't tell Mal," she says, coolly as usual but with an edge of uncertainty, like she don't know whether her saying it's gonna make things worse or better.

Jayne grunts, shakes his head again, and waits as she quickly descends the rest of the stairs and makes her way out and toward the mess.

He considers following her, but his gut's still uneasy with all the grease and grog he's consumed over the past six hours, not hungry again yet, so instead he stays, tapping his first on the cargo door controls to shut it, turning instead of watching them close and settling on the bench further back. He takes a pull from the bottle he's carrying that makes his mouth twist, so he stoppers it again, instead listening to the slosh of liquid against glass while he twists it idly in his hands. After a while he hears a noise behind him that he recognises; one that the girl makes to let him know she's there so he don't go dropping the barbell on hisself and end up cussing up a storm. That only had to happen once.

She sits down beside him and they both watch the shadowed movement of the alcohol behind the thick, frosted glass. He don't look at her, and so it's all he can do not to drop the bottle entirely when her head's a sudden weight on his upper arm; he freezes before tilting his head in order to see if she's either dead or trying to kill him, and finds her eyes closed and mouth a little open, asleep.

Jayne curses under his breath, and prays in the name of _suoyou de dou shidang_ to whoever's listening that Mal don't pick this moment to roll on back to the ship, because Jayne ain't gonna be able to explain himself outta this in a hurry, and even if Mal does decide to be amused by it instead of spacing him, Jayne ain't never gonna hear the end of it. After trying to shake her awake as hard as he dares don't prove fruitful, Jayne resigns himself to the only option left, and manages to somehow not let her head drop in the careful maneuvering required to both stand up and then lift her. He considers throwing her over his shoulder instead of having to turn sideways every time they pass through a doorway, but decides against it for the repercussions it could incur in the long run. Or the short run. Namely: if Mal chose _that_ moment to walk in. Mal's always been faster on the draw.

Maybe it's the few mouthfuls of liquor coursing through his veins, but the girl's skin seems mighty cold, though she ain't even shivering, like she's a snake or lizard or some such moving slowly out of the covered spaces in the desert to soak up the sunrise. There's a blanket all crumpled-like at the end of her bed, so he pulls it up to her shoulders once he's set her down, then takes a breath before making his way back out again, thanking whoever the hell was listening before for not letting him bump into anyone and answer any difficult questions on the way.

He's barely finished the thought, and barely finished sliding the girl's door closed behind him when the door to the Doc's bunk slides open. Jayne has time to see something familiar clenched in the Doc's hand, the little drum from Aberdeen, before Simon's shoved him against the bars by River's bunk, smooth, hard lines against his back, and is pressing real close. Then all Jayne has time for is turning his head so's the Doc's mouth lands somewhere on his jaw instead of Jayne's own mouth, and before he can even say anything or secure his own grip, the Doc's loosing his hold on Jayne's shirt and is backing away again.

"_Tzao gao_, Jayne, I--" The Doc's looking somewhat paler than usual, though that might be the contrast of colour high on his cheeks, and he can't seem to bring himself to look Jayne in the eye. "I'm sorry, I thought--oh, _God_\--"

"_Bizui,_" Jayne growls, and Simon does so, though his mouth still gapes open and he seems stunned enough at Jayne's continuing presence that Jayne has time to stalk forward quick enough that he manages to walk Simon the rest of the way into his bunk backwards, the Doc's body teetering as if uncertain, then leaning forward as Jayne's hand winds in his hair and pulls his head back a little. Jayne's teeth scrape against the corner of Simon's jaw and Simon makes a little noise Jayne ain't heard him make before, and then Jayne's free hand is closing the door firmly behind them.

Simon turns his head and Jayne's grip tightens, halting the movement. "Not on the mouth," he growls, feeling his breath hot against his own lips where it's flush up against the Doc's skin, and Simon's neck goes a little bit limper even as his hands reach up to grip Jayne's biceps, fingers digging in and the drum _toc_ing hollowly as it bounces on the floor then stills. Jayne backs them further to the bed, legs tangling a little painfully at the wrong angles as they make it down, half-sitting and half propped against the wall with neither of them willing to give way and be pushed to the bed, Simon just about giving as hard as he's getting, now, with his hands sliding down, not gently, to jerk up the hem of Jayne's tee-shirt, fingers digging into the thick muscles of Jayne's lower back before scraping around and making Jayne's stomach jump before they drop a little lower to pull at his belt buckle.

Jayne makes a low noise of approval and pulls back, lets his hands drop to Simon's own buttons, his vest already open with the white shirt loose beneath it, tiny fiddly translucent buttons that Jayne decides to start from the bottom-up with, accompanied by a degree of cursing under his breath. It's not made any easier by the distraction provided by the Doc now being of a distance Jayne can properly see him in, and Jayne ain't really prepared for the degree of savage satisfaction that surges up seeing the Doc's usually-groomed hair all mussed, and his skin all mussed too from the burn of Jayne's beard against his throat. Simon takes advantage of Jayne's momentary distraction to surge forward his own self, hand firm on the back of Jayne's neck as he pulls him forward and fastens his mouth above the tense, angular muscle that joins Jayne's shoulder to his neck, even as his other hand manages to unbutton Jayne's fly and slide inside.

Jayne feels the slick smirk of Simon's teeth against his skin at the noise Jayne makes, and in response abandons the button-fumbling to grip Simon's cock fiercely through the dark fabric of his trousers, twisting the fabric 'round a little as Simon's hips push forward and his mouth pulls open away from Jayne's neck, breath huffing hard out onto wet skin. A competition, then, as Simon removes his hand from Jayne's neck in order to jerk open his own fly, Jayne eagerly taking the hint and closing his hand around flesh, hot enough with the rough fabric against the backs of his knuckles and the blood rushing at greater speed 'round his own limbs (namely, directly to his groin) that his fist is soon slick with sweat, gripping tightly and sliding with an ease aided by the stuttering movement of the Doc's hips.

He huffs out a puff of laughter and Simon grips harder in response, palm dragging against Jayne's cock to the point of pain and they both push forward at the same time, shoulders pressed hard against the wall and their foreheads grinding together, like rams Jayne used to see, all crowded up in tiny pens but still butting together, horns locked and stomping. He goes near cross-eyed watching as Simon's tongue darts out to lick his lips, breath heaving, stop-starting as Jayne speeds up, then the sudden burn against his face as Simon's scrapes across it to land on his shoulder, his spine curling and hips jerking without rhythm; cock thrumming in Jayne's palm like the drum had in River's, quick vibration of beats that sets him outside of time. Simon gasps against his shoulder, hot breath dampening Jayne's shirt as Jayne withdraws his hand and wipes stickiness away, considerately, he thinks, onto the bed covers, with most of his attention still drawn like a magnet to Simon's now sluggish grip, though it's hard to miss the scrape of his eyelashes as his eyes close, head still bowed, sliding down a little and Jayne doesn't bother to repress the growl that rises in his throat.

"We ain't finished yet," he grits, pulling Simon up by the hair again. His eyes are still closed, and Jayne's reminded, involuntarily, of stepping into the settlement at Aberdeen with Simon beside him, watching the Doc's eyes skirt over the rough-hewn buildings, lip curling up a little in puzzled distaste. His grip on Simon's wrist is hard enough that he feels the bones grind, and the Doc's eyes open to watch as Jayne lifts his hand, laves the palm with his tongue, then purposefully places it back on Jayne's cock, closing the fingers around firmly by holding Simon's hand in his own fist. The Doc's gaze follows the movement, eyelids heavy and mouth still a little open, and Jayne feels in great detail the sensation of the Doc re-asserting his own grip, fingers flexing a little where they're surrounded by Jayne, then choosing their own degree of pressure as Jayne starts moving again, setting the pace.

It don't take much longer after that, and then the room's just filled with the sound of their breathing, louder now than it ought to be, strange without the purr of Serenity's engines around them. Jayne's back prickles as the sweat starts to cool, and he takes a deep breath of the muggy air and goes to speak when the crackle of the comm breaks into the soft air. "Honey?" Mal's voice is unmistakable, as is its somewhat gleeful slur, even through the tinny transmission to the ship's comm from an outside source. "I'm home! Did somebody leave a light on?"

Jayne curses a little, first just in his head and then out loud, and then Simon disentangles himself, swinging both legs round to rest his feet on the floor before re-fastening his fly. "What…" Jayne starts, re-thinks, then says, "Leave him be, Wash'll let him in from the bridge."

The Doc shakes his head a little, then stands, hands starting to work on the buttons on his vest. Jayne hadn't got very far with the shirt buttons; there're only two undone at the bottom that Simon leaves be as he tucks the tails into his trousers. "I told Wash and Zoë I'd let him in if he came back after 0200. And it's…" he glances at his watch. "0240."

"But--" Jayne stands as well, fumbling with his trousers before they fall 'round his ankles. "You can't go… like _that_."

Simon looks up from where he's wiping at something on his pants, which are dark and thus not showing up much dampness; you'd have to know what you're looking for. But his hair's still mussed something fierce, face still flush, neck still livid from Jayne's mouth and beard. He blinks, no trace of the heavy, rich dazedness that Jayne'd seen not that much earlier. "Why not?"

"Well he'll… He'll _know_." Mal'd been pissed enough at Simon smiling at him over the dinner table, and as much as Jayne enjoys a spot of violence, he ain't too fond of the idea of Mal shooting him (he's sure Mal wouldn't wait until they were airborne so's he could space him) because he roughed up the Doc.

Simon just stares, face looking strange now with its expression so tense and still. "I see," he says, and then turns to leave.

Jayne surges off the bed and after him, but the Doc's moving fast and Jayne chokes back calling after him when he sees the girl's door opposite, dark and still and reminding him of her sleeping on his bench in the empty cargo bay, and he shuts his gorram mouth. Maddy'd always slept like a log; in a way he tries not to think about he'd been glad when the damp lung had set in good and proper; the sound of her breathin got rid of his urge to wake her up sometimes just to make sure she was still alive.

**Author's Note:**

> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/35209.html


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